


in your arms (i am at peace)

by Blueberries (Blueberries_Pen)



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [26]
Category: DCU
Genre: Cock Warming, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Migraine, Multiple Orgasms, Noncontober 2020, Overstimulation, Stripping, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27205604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberries_Pen/pseuds/Blueberries
Summary: When Robin has a breakdown after killing someone, Slade is there for him.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947430
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	in your arms (i am at peace)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 26:   
> Kinktober: Stripping   
> Noncontober: Multiple orgasms  
> Whumptober: Migraine

Robin  _ wails,  _ feeling yet another orgasm, dry, push through his body. Hands curl weakly at Slade’s shirt, hanging on, but Slade doesn’t stop hands still pumping and stroking. Black spots dance in his vision, head dully throbbing and body weakly twitching, but he’s too weak to truly struggle.

“M-m-master,” he whines desperately, but Slade just shushes him, and keeps on going. 

And Robin  _ tries _ to hang on, but it’s all too much, too fast, and he  _ can’t.  _ Black overtakes his vision. 

But that's okay, because when he wakes up again, Slade is still there, steadily stroking away like the beat of drums against his head.

Robin sobs, eyelashes wet with tears, and buries his face in the crook of Slade's neck. He cries into Slade's shirt, wetting the collar with his tears, but Slade doesn't say anything, just keeps rubs his with a thumb and makes his mouth open into a scream. 

"Forget, yet?" Slade murmurs, voice soft, hand blessedly,  _ thankfully,  _ stilling. 

It's hard to remember, why he's here. Hard to believe any other moment can exist, aside from this.

But he still  _ does.  _ Remembers how he killed. Remembers Slade's praise at his execution. Remembers, too, how he had frozen. Cried. Broken down. Had to have Slade drag him out. Been a  _ bother  _ to his master.

Is this a punishment? Or a reward? He doesn't know. He just wants it to stop  _ hurting. _

Wants his heart to stop aching, for his body to stop shaking, for his head to stop throbbing, for his brain to stop  _ thinking. _

"Not yet, I suppose," Slade says, and starts up that tortuous movement again. His arm snaked around Robin's back, and coming around to keep on stroking.

Robin's hand stay fisted in Slade's shirt, his neck buried in Slade's neck, breathing in deeply in a futile attempt to hold on and not be washed away. He wishes he weren't still wearing the blood splattered uniform. There's come on it now, his, but all it is a layer separating him from Slade when all he wants is to sink so deep into all that is Slade he can never come back out.

He doesn't want to  _ be. _

At the corner of his vision, Slade's other hand types away at a laptop, doing some work or another. 

Slade's new mission, probably. He could try to pay attention. Try to note down what it says in his head.

But does it matter? He's as much Slade's thing as the laptop Slade was using, or the chair he was sitting on, just something to be used. It's meaningless, to pretend otherwise.

Was it even him, that slit the man's throat, or was it Slade's tool instead? Did he even exist, apart from Slade? 

Did it matter? 

There was blood spilled, and it landed on Robin.

So he sobs and cries and loses himself in the sensation instead.

If it hurts, he deserves it. For being such a damn  _ failure. _ For failing his friends. For messing up on Slade's mission.

If it brings him pleasure, that's just a mercy he does not deserve, that he should be thankful for.

His cock is red and purple and pathetically small is Slade's hand, and Slade doesn't care, whether he's hard or not. Slade strokes it all the same, coaxes it to hardness without break, drags more and more out of him. Robin can't count how many times he's blacked out, nor how many times he's screamed until his voice is hoarse for it anymore, nor how many tears he's shed until he can't and all that remains are dried tear tracks and quiet, gasping breaths.

Slade looks down at him, and he looks back up with dull, black eyes, hands still clenched tight to his shirt.

"Well?" Slade murmurs.

"...hurts," Robin croaks.

"Your head?" Slade asks, shifting to reach something.

And everything else, Robin doesn't say. Slade hums, uncaps a bottle, and brings it to Robin's mouth. "That's what you get, boy, for crying and screaming so much," Slade says, but not roughly.

Robin sips it in small amounts, exhausted, but still obediently drinks it until there's no more. 

"Let's get you to bed, hm?" Slade says, gentle, lifting him up.

He’s carried, drained and heart achingly empty, to the bed. Laid down, and his breath hitches as Slade gently pries away his fingers from his shirt. “Settle down, kid,” Slade says, relaxed, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hand brush over Robin’s stained uniform, undoing clasps and pulling them apart, prying it off piece by piece. Exposing more and more of what he owned for Slade’s inspection. His pants are pulled off first, already halfway down. There’s no underwear, of course. Slade didn’t allow him any.

A wet rag is brushed over his thighs, wiping away the worst of the come on them, and he feels - ashamed. Slade is his master, he shouldn’t have to clean up after Robin like this. But Robin is so  _ weak. _

“You’ve made quite the mess, didn’t you?” Slade remarks, amused, as he pulls off the gloves and then Robin’s top. It’s where the worst of the mess is, most of the blood and come and where there isn’t that it’s sweat slicked from all his shivering.

Slade wipes away that mess too.

Shame curdles in him, deeper.

The only thing that remains on Robin is his collar - it makes sense, he thinks, for Slade’s possession to stay marked. Even if he’s useless.

Slade slides in next to him, pulling him close. 

“Master?” Robin whispers.

“What?” Slade asks, lazily pulling apart Robin’s cheeks so he could push in his cock. 

Robin shudders, biting back a pained moan, and says quietly, “I’m sorry - for - for being a burden.”

Slade stills, and then lets out a huff of laughter. “You silly boy,” he says affectionately, tugging him closer and pressing their bodies together. “Is that what you’ve been worried about, hm? You’re  _ mine _ , pet. You belong to  _ me _ . And I take care of my things, understood?” 

Robin flushes, and presses back against Slade, enjoying the feeling of being skin to skin, of feeling Slade inside him. He is being held, he is okay. “Yes, master.”

Slade's hands are warm and steady and reassuring around him, and like this, though his body hurts, he finds he can just… let go.

Hands cling to Slade’s arms, curling around them, and then, like that, safe and wanted and  _ useful  _ in his master’s hold, he peacefully drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> me, crying and blubbering: SO SOFT


End file.
